One More Day
by Riseha
Summary: As if this life hadn't been a mistake, it must be dangerous and full of losses too. Damn, being Severus Snape's daughter really, really, sucks. Slightly AU, SI.
1. Chapter 1

**ONE MORE DAY**  
by: Riseha

**Preface**

When you start seeing someone else's face on a total stranger, it's a sure sign that you're in need of medical help. You don't just ignore it and pretend that it's a one-time thing – especially when it kept continuing and you kept seeing this person on complete strangers.

That is how I was conceived, you see.

My father was delusional – to a certain degree – and he thought, for a moment, that the lady was the woman he loved and lost.

Other than the red hair – that was the exact same shade – and green eyes – though Mom's eyes were a shade darker – my mother looked nothing like Lily Evans – unless you counted the number of freckles and their height.

My father – _surprise_ – was Severus Snape, a professor at Hogwarts and the Slytherin Head of House.

My mother, on the other hand, was a Muggle – even to this day, I don't think she knew anything about magic.

That wasn't the most surprising part: did you know that, this world I was born into again, after I'd died, used to be fiction? A series of novel that turned out to be real? That the people existed in an alternate reality?

Yeah... I didn't believe it either. It wasn't until I was five when I started noticing these tiny details. Perhaps my father's magic and wand would've given it away but, somehow, he hid the fact that he was a wizard from my mother whom he married – for the sake of the growing baby, he was a man with honor after all.

I didn't know magic either, not until I shattered Mom's favorite vase. I'd remember that day till I die – and maybe, carry that memory into my next life too – I'd remember the sliver of fear and how my mind was already whirring for a way to blame this on something else – the fear that was dashed away when my father drew his wand for the first time in my presence, muttered something under his breath, and the broken pieces of the vase piecing themselves together, whole as new again.

"Be more careful, next time," I still remembered his voice saying. He didn't sound angry nor did he try to explain how the vase pieced itself together – fantastic, he always gave me the illusion that everything was all right.

I resembled my father more – or perhaps it was the personality I'd always had even in my past life – with our paleness, polite sarcasm, natural aptitude for silence and tendency to fade away into the background. I had a feeling this frustrated my outgoing mother more than she let on, especially the annoyance she felt when I often rejected her offer to bring me to the park or out shopping.

I'd prefer curling up in the small house somewhere and reading or sleeping the day away.

I fared fairly well in school, breezing past tests without needing much effort – neither of my parents realized that I hadn't studied as it was basic kids stuff I had learned in the life before.

Perhaps the reason why I never noticed something was wrong with – how strained – my parents' relationship was because they hid it very well, or perhaps because Dad wasn't around often as he taught year-round at a school. He only came back during the holidays, sometimes but not often enough on weekends, and if my parents argued, I never knew as I was often up in bed by the time he swung by – I'd only see him the next morning.

Now that I knew about magic, I supposed he had cast a Silencing Charm to hid the fact he and his wife were screaming themselves hoarse at one another.

Father was the one who confronted me with a life-changing decision: _choose_.

I do not believe kids at the mere age of six – I might be the only exception to this rule – had any right to choose which parent they _want_ to follow, especially not when they didn't fully understand the situation. But I was not six years old in mind; my mentality was that of a twenty-something adult.

I _knew_ what was good and bad for me – but not necessarily the best.

So, that night, I was led away by my egg-donor of this world, away from the sperm-donor, his last words ringing in my ears: "I'm sorry you were born."

Mother never mentioned it, from the multiple trips she had to make to somewhere, I was sure she was filing for a divorce. Mom was pretty well off – she worked as a Muggle-accountant so she had plenty saved up to raise both of us. We never mentioned Dad – Mom was too grateful to wonder why I never asked and I understood too much to wonder about anything.

His parting words left me doubtless that he wouldn't write to me or visit.

A wizard, indeed.

I didn't see hide nor hair – or even seen his face – of Dad for three years until he came by to visit me in the hospital when I burned down part of the school and was recently expelled.

I didn't care what they said or how badly Mom reacted to what I'd done – they all thought I was a pyromaniac and tried to burn the whole school down just because my schoolmates made a few jibes. I didn't care – all I cared was that Dad visited and I'm a witch.

I, who was used to keeping things hidden, never mentioned anything to Mom – and Dad did say something about the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. I was just – happy and aware. My smile as I trotted out of the hospital, fully healed sooner than expected (just after Dad left, _hiding_ his wand beneath his cloak), further supported the theory that I was a _very_troubled and abnormal child.

Mom was at home more often than usual after that incident, leaving me with very little time to play with magic and see what I could do.

I had nothing against her but when she started breathing down my neck, I started avoiding her and frequenting the park.

I guess my relationship with both my parents were horribly strained. Or perhaps not. I was just – distant. Mom couldn't baby me because my twenty-year-old mentality wouldn't allow it. Dad never really bothered with me – he was as distant as I am. His personality did me no good, Mom always assumed – said it out loud when she thought I couldn't hear – I inherited my antisocial nature from my father.

That was not to say my Mom gave up easily: she was someone who'd never leave any ends loose without trying her best – I love her determination. She tried, many times. She phoned her friends for help, for advice and let their kids play with me. Mom had a silver tongue and managed to break through the other parents' worries about my pyromaniac nature – I screwed up.

Mom and the parents brought all of us to an amusement park and told us to toddle off and play.

I wandered off, I did, and never bothered with what had happened to the kids. I was idly vandalizing – well, I call it a brush of creativity – the wall when someone tutted and tapped their foot loudly to catch my attention.

I knew I was supposed to acknowledge said person because there was no one else in the rather secluded area but I ignored whoever it was – until, of course, a small hand grabbed my shoulder.

I turned, lips pressed in a thin line. "Yes?"

The girl frowning – or pouting – down at me was about my age with a lot of bushy brown hair, charcoal colored eyes, and rather large front teeth.

Would it be wrong to say I know her?

Yes. Rather, I know _of_ her. I never knew her, personally, but my grasp on her personality was enough for me to predict what she was going to say.

"You shouldn't be drawing on the walls," said the girl. True to my prediction then. "It's wrong."

"Who are you going to tell?" I wondered mildly.

Her frown faltered. "W-well – why are _you_ here? Didn't you came here to play?"

"What about you?" I inquired.

If possible, her face fell even more. "I did came here to play, but – no one wants to – "

"Why?"

"They say I'm a know-it-all. You think so too, don't you?"

"No. You don't know me, so how can you make such an assumption?"

"That's not true. You're the quiet girl that everyone stares weirdly at." I paused. Wait, we're schoolmates? I didn't know. I suppose the school was too big and we probably passed each other without paying much attention. "We're in the same class – Lilian Fiennes-Snape, right?"

I blinked. "Oh. I don't remember you."

She nodded, I don't think she could look any glummer. "Expected as much. You never talk to anybody but the teachers. I heard the teacher say that you're a... wait, give me a sec, I'm remembering it – uh, yeah, they called you ADD kid or something."

"Uh-huh. I just don't like talking."

"But you're talking now."

"If you need to speak with me, I will respond. Have any of you ever approached me to strike a conversation?"

The girl considered, frowned, and shook her head. I examined the chalk I'd taken from the classroom. It was very short now. I'd need to get a new one. From the class. _Without_ anyone knowing. "See? Not one of you tried to see what sort of person I am. All of you just assume I'm–"

"They're scared of you," the to-be witch blurted out. "They said you looked like a vampire."

"Cool. I wish I was one."

And somehow, the girl sat down next to me and we talked. Just us – two girls who had no other friends, sitting and talking instead of running around and playing.

"My name's Hermione Granger," she said just before her parents led her away.

"I know," I told her.

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******( ｡◕‿‿◕｡)******

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_Just trying my hand at SI's, tell me what you think._

_xxx_


	2. Chapter 2

**ONE MORE DAY**  
by: Riseha

**Chapter 1**

It took me six months to accept the fact that I was a baby again. It was no wonder why anyone – normal – would forget their infant years. It was traumatizing, especially since I was an adult trapped in a baby's body. I was changed, bathed and clothed by the woman who had given birth to this body.

Not me.

I pitied Mom, honestly, I do. She went through the pain of giving birth to a child who wasn't particularly attached to her. Oh, no, I didn't hate her. I do care about her, on some level, and I definitely do not want to disappoint her. But I wasn't affectionate; I never reached out for hugs or kisses like ordinary kids my age do.

Even as a baby, I never went to her unless I was hungry. And I never cried.

Never.

Yes, it was frustrating, but I was good at suppressing simmering irritation. Still, as a baby, it was convenient to release stress by throwing a tantrum. To shut me up, Mom showered me with everything I wanted to keep me silent and happy.

I could tell that she loved me very much; even if I reminded her so strongly of her ex-husband whom she married only to uphold her honor and give me a perfect family. Not a family where the dad is absent.

I admire her bravery to try – to try to carve a family with a man whose name she did not know until I was conceived. Mom always spoke of Dad with her voice laced with bitterness. She told me that when she first told him, he ran for it.

I giggled because it was funny, imagining the fearsome Death-Eater Snape running away when told that he was going to be a father. I suppose it was only normal, after all, he never wanted more responsibility when he already has his love's son to protect.

I try not to think about it, but I'm sure that between me and Lily Evans' son, Dad would chose the latter. This I can answer with absolute certainty, so honest and sharp that it hurts.

Life was a blessing, but being born unloved...

No, not unloved.

I have Mom. I'm okay.

**xXx**

And, come to think of it, I have Hermione.

"Lilian!"

I turned, mildly surprised to see Hermione waving enthusiastically at me, grinning so bright her teeth glinted in the sun. She didn't seem to mind the attention people were giving us though. "Oh, good morning, Hermione." I smiled at her. This was something I had learned to please Mom. If someone smiles at you, it is only polite to smile back even if you don't know them. So it's explainable as to why I always smile at random strangers like we're old friends or something. I can come off as friendly or as a freak.

I learned that I like it when Mom's happy with me and when she praises me. There's something about her proud and happy smile that warms my heart. Well, the presents are bonus.

(_Hehe..._)

"Morning! And, um, Lilian?"

"Hm?"

"Can I sit with you in class?"

"Sure."

"During lunch too?"

"...Why not?"

And that was how I made my first friend in this world.

I'd forgotten how easy it was to befriend people. Just smile, say hello and ask them their names. And here I thought I have to ask, "Can we please be friends? I'm very lonely."

Now that's going to sound pathetic. I want kids to befriend me because they genuinely find me interesting or they like me, not out of pity. That's got to be the sorriest excuse to befriend someone, ever.

Hermione doesn't have any other friends, neither do I, but that's OK. We have one another and classes aren't so boring anymore. Even the teachers seemed genuinely surprised when I raised my hand to answer; they just didn't know Hermione was stepping on my foot and would not release me until I answered at least one question.

**xXx**

Our first magical accident happened when we were eight. Well, she's already nine but whatever. I'm going to be nine in two months' time.

We were running late to school.

Ever since we became – best – friends, we always went to school together and walked back home together (most of the way because we lived in different areas). It was stormy, grey clouds rolling in and blocking out the sun completely. It was my favorite weather and I was wide awake in a matter of seconds. The day started off good since Mom made my favorite snack, doughnuts and I was free to pour chocolate all over it.

I like sweet things.

It was the complete opposite for Hermione; she was sluggish and slow to wake on stormy days so it was up to me to wait for her.

She was unexceptionally late. She looked grateful that I had waited though. "If we get in trouble, just make something up and blame it on me," said Hermione, glancing at her wristwatch.

"I wasn't waiting for you. I was enjoying the breeze and totally forgot the time," I retorted.

Hermione scoffed, but she was smiling when I glanced at her. It fell when she chanced another glance at her watch. "I wish I can turn back time," she moaned desperately, eyes squeezed shut in horror. I could understand; even I was full of apprehension at the thought of meeting our discipline teacher who always locked us out for being late and he was particularly famous for dishing punishment that really hurts or humiliating and troublesome (like running twenty laps or push-ups). "Or at least teleport there – "

She shrieked and clutched my arm. I didn't know what was happening. All I knew was that someone had wrenched my arm so forcefully, it popped out of its sockets.

I didn't know what had happened; black spots dotted my vision and all I was aware of is the pain in my right leg. Then Hermione's piercing scream sliced through the air.

From there, my good day turned 180-degrees as I, for the second time, was rushed to the hospital because of a magical accident.

I learned, much later, that I had been splinched. This came from Dad. Apparently, Hermione had attempted Apparition without her awareness and the flesh of my right leg had been torn off and bones were peeking out when the teachers rushed me to the hospital.

Good thing: no detention because even the discipline teacher had been shocked beyond words.

"Can you please," I gritted my teeth over the hiss of pain that threatened to escape when Dad poured Essence of Dittany over my wound. I had been bleeding profusely and I know that Dad had to use lots of magic to wipe the Muggle doctors and teachers' memory to be able to see me so soon. "smooth things over? Hermione doesn't know."

"Did you know that she's like you?"

"She's different," I said carefully, not meeting his eyes when he glanced up. I wouldn't put it past him to use Legilimency on me. "Her parents are dentists, not wizards. You... you are a wizard, you said so... so we're different." I wanted to sound like I was innocently making an honest observation. I read somewhere that Snape no longer used the term 'Mudblood' and no longer had prejudice against them ever since his friendship with Lily Evans was severed. This was a good opportunity to test the waters.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Dad, sounding rather stern and the knot in my chest loosened. "there is no difference between you. She's Muggle-born and you may be a half-blood, but the two of you are still witches. Magic makes everyone equal."

I stared at his forehead. "I understand. But... Dad, if magic makes everyone equal, what about Mom? She's not magic."

Dad studied my face critically. I knew what he would see: a girl of eight with her mother's wavy red hair and her father's bottomless black eyes, the high cheekbones and slightly upturn freckled nose of her mother. I hope he assumed that the expressionless face I often have was hereditary from his side.

"Some people in our world will view her in a... rather negative light," Dad finally spoke after a long pause; he seemed to be carefully gauging my expression and checking his words. "but it wouldn't matter if you love her. To them, she may be nothing but to you, she is as special as you are."

"...I see."

"Lilian..." Dad sounded as if he was being strangled. I looked up. "Your grandmother wishes to see you."

I was baffled. "Grandma Clarisse? _Why_?"

"No, not Clarisse. Don't you remember? I told you before... of my mother, Eileen."

"I – I suppose I forgot," I mumbled.

There was an extremely awkward pause where Dad was at a loss of words and I have no idea what to say either. The silence was broken when the door flung open, nearly hitting Dad in the face (only later would I wonder if this is deliberate), as Mom rushed in. "Lily!" she cried, missing how Dad flinched, throwing her arms around me. "Lily, sweetheart – what _happened_?"

She only noticed Dad when she saw I kept staring at him. Her concerned expression instantly soured into distaste. "Oh, you. What are you doing here?"

Dad recovered rather quickly under the barbing tone. "Just visiting my daughter. Not a crime, I hope? Or am I so _outdated_ with the current world that I had not known fathers need the permission of the mother to visit their child?" His tone implied that they had argued about this before; whether it's his unfashionable choice of clothing (I suppose this is the Muggles' impression of wizarding clothing) or it's whether he was allowed to be an integral part of my life or not.

"Of course it's not wrong," she hissed, voice thick with venom. I guess she absolutely hated him. For reasons beyond me, she didn't seem to hate me as much. No, she didn't hate me at all. Period. "I would think you'd let me have her all to myself since she'll be with you for the rest of the week?"

"I thought I was doing you a favor," Dad snapped. Something's not right here.

Mom's cheeks flushed red. "Just go!"

With another nod of acknowledgement my way, Dad left, his cloak billowing behind him.

**xXx**

Officially, I was on vacation since it ought to raise some suspicion if I just bounce back to school the next day after such severe blood loss.

I had written to Hermione with the promise to tell her everything once I'm back and for her to not worry, I was perfectly fine. In fact, I was doing terrific. There would only be a faint scar and it didn't hurt anymore.

"What's Mom busy with?" I asked as we wove through the throng of Muggles. My hand was gripped loosely in Dad's hand. He said we were going to the Leaky Cauldron, the border of the wizarding world and the Muggle world. I was having a hard time not bouncing or skipping.

This was exciting. This was the part I looked forward to the most: magic. Magic made it so much more worth it, it totally made up for my unsatisfactory – boring – lifestyle as a child again.

"You might just have a proper father, Clarissa, aren't you happy?"

Clarissa is actually my middle name. It's funny; Dad wanted to name me Lilian and Mom wanted my first name to be Clarissa, after her own mother – my maternal grandmother, Clarisse, whom I had only met once and she liked criticizing me so I liked infuriating her too – and they ended up calling me differently than they originally intended to.

I guess Dad didn't like being reminded of his old love, especially not when Mom liked shortening my name to Lily. So he called me by my middle name.

I can't exactly say 'yes' with how bitter his tone was. I could understand; while he never wanted to be a father, he didn't enjoy how he was shaping up to be a dad as good as his own dad, Tobias Snape. I only knew that Tobias Snape was dead from one of Mom's many rants about Dad's many faults – Tobias came into topic when Mom learned that Dad refused to attend his father's funeral.

It would be a complete lie if I said he was a proper father.

And honesty has always been one of my finer points.

"You were never the best dad," I said bluntly, "nevertheless, I'm grateful that I can do extraordinary feats thanks to your blood flowing within me. I might not be that awkward around the step-father as much as it feels around you."

His expression didn't even twitch. "Come," he said instead. "Mother wishes to meet her granddaughter."

**xXx**

Eileen Snape nee Prince was a much nicer grandmother than Clarisse Fiennes nee La Rue was. I totally adored her. If not for her kind and non-criticizing nature, then for the presents she gave me. Storybooks and treats from the wizarding world. She lived in Hogsmeade these days, the only completely non-Muggle village settlement in all of Britain, and worked in Tomes and Scrolls, a library.

Apparently, you can't stand and read in the bookstore.

Since I was most happy when I'm reading, Dad left me to my own devices with Grandma with the promise to not wander too far away.

Grandma was also very useful in convincing Dad. After three days of loitering around in the library where only old witches and wizards visited (bringing treats for me), I was bored.

"...She's bored, Severus... too many books, she wants to see potion being brewed... take her with you... she also wants to spend some time with you..." Grandma went on in this vein for awhile until Dad gave in.

"Remember, you will behave. I want absolute obedience."

"Alright, alright," I mumbled, too excited to feel annoyed as we threaded the worn-path to Hogwarts castle. When I tried to dash past him into Hogwarts first, he snagged my collar and hauled me back.

"What did I say?"

"No running, or something like that." I tried not to scowl; the irritation died when I stepped into Hogwarts castle and I tuned Dad out.

It was grander and larger than I had imagined it to be. The Entrance Hall was so large, it could fit my entire condo in here. The light was cast by real life fairies that giggled and twirled when I went near them. "I want one," I told Dad. He just plucked the container off, ignoring the squealing fairy, and handed it over to me without saying a word. "Can you speak Fairy?" I asked interestedly, knocking the glass container.

"No, but Headmaster Dumbledore can."

I tried to keep my face blank. It felt... weird. To talk about the man your Dad would kill in eight years time. I tried not to think about where I will be, what I will be doing and how safe or welcomed I will be. I turned the container upside down, smirking when the fairy shrieked in fear and surprise.

"Keep that up and you're standing out here."

I glanced up at Dad who had stopped by large double doors. "Where does that lead to?" I asked curiously, even though I was pretty sure of the answer.

"The Great Hall."

And he pushed the doors open.

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Thanks for the review! Keep it up! :P


	3. Chapter 3

**ONE MORE DAY**  
by: Riseha

**Chapter 2**

My presence did nothing to soften Dad's harsh treatment towards the students. I watched, standing slightly behind my father, at the melted blue glob that used to a cauldronful of potion. "Class, please take note of the level of incompetence one can sink to," Dad sneered waspishly, Vanishing the used-to-be cauldron and the failed potion.

The Hufflepuff cowered, looking on the verge of tears.

"Maybe she's shortsighted," I offered, taking pity on her.

"Ms Fawley's sitting in the first row." Dad scowled at me, not at all impressed by my argument. "Stop standing so close to these failures – you'd get hurt when one of their potions blows up."

"'Kay." I wandered over to the Ravenclaws' side, watching. Dad was teaching his third-year students, _or_ berating them. As there were no Slytherins in this class, Dad was on his absolute worst behavior: he'd already made two girls cry.

Dad actually wanted to kick me back to Grandma Eileen's but I insisted, that _no, I don't want to go _in the middle of the hallway where students were congregating. So to avoid a scene, he'd taken with him. It was quite boring watching him work, even though his sarcastic and biting remarks _were_ interesting, there could only be so many times I found him making kids cry funny.

I was rummaging around in the students' ingredients of cupboard while Dad packed his things, muttering cusses under his breath.

"You better brush up on your Potions," grumbled Dad. "It'd be embarrassing if you turn out as bad as them."

"Then maybe you should teach me," I said, closing the cupboard and stepping away. "Since we're spending time together anyway."

"After school," he relented.

I wasn't too bad, if I did say so myself. I followed the instructions to a T – which, according to Dad, was not very reliable. He handed me his notes from his own schooldays, revealing the changes he'd made to certain concoctions for stronger effects.

"I don't think I'd be a good Potioneer," I mumbled, flipping through the notebook.

"What will you be good at then?" demanded Dad, somewhat impatiently. We were strolling down the darkened hallways, towards the entrance that led to Hogsmeade: after bullying every fairy I saw, Dad decided that I'd overstayed my welcome and was to escort me back after I dropped a glass case on Filch's head.

Good question. Brewing potions didn't interest me. "Um, the Dark Arts and the Defense against it...?"

Dad inclined his head. "I'm sure Mother would be thrilled to aid you in that aspect."

We were well out of Hogwarts before I decided to pursue another question. "Dad, I saw the mark on your arm – " His arm jerked, right hand reaching out to touch the spot where the Dark Mark had been hidden. "And Grandma said you were a Death Eater."

"So?" he snapped defensively.

I had to jog to keep up. "What did you do as a Death Eater?"

"None of your business," he retorted coolly. That was not a very smart response. He could've answered in a fatherly way, like _it's completely R-rated, not for children's ears_, but no, he had to answer in a way that made me feel snubbed.

"Who chose that name anyway?" I persisted, despite knowing full well he wanted to drop the subject about his previous occupation. "It sucks. How can you eat death?"

"Don't ask me, Clarissa," Dad sighed, "I didn't chose the name and I did not find it imperative to ask the Dark Lord."

"Was he scary?"

"That comes with the job description – ah, here we are." We came to an abrupt halt before Grandma's shop. I looked up to the second-floor window and saw a lamplight flickering from within. "Well," he said, somewhat stiffly, "Good night."

"Night night."

**xXx**

"You're pulling my leg," accused Hermione as we sat, sheltered from the glaring sunlight by the large oak tree that groaned and creaked threateningly above us. Hermione batted a leaf from her bushy brown hair and continued staring intently at me, scanning for lies.

"I'm not," I insisted. I doubted she'd be able to tell if I was lying or not since I had a natural talent for Occlumency, or so Grandma Eileen said. I'd ask for her help in those aspects of magic and she'd been more than happy to do so. The death of her husband, Tobias Snape, seemed to have done much good for her and her magical ability. Hearing of Eileen's treatment at the hands of her abusive husband made me wonder why they married in the first place, and why Eileen did not use a Love Potion to keep him enamored with her even after she was revealed to be a witch.

Or maybe Eileen knew it would be terrible: aka, Lord Voldemort's attitude. His mom and dad had serious issues...

"I can't be a witch," said Hermione. "Even though these odd things keep happening to me... what proof do you have?"

I licked my lips. "This," I said, springing to my feet and climbing the tree, spotting the instrument that might make my friend believe me.

"Lily!" cried Hermione, standing as well. "That's dangerous!"

"No, it isn't."

"Lily – come down this instant! – or I'll tell your mother!"

I ignored her, steadying myself on the next branch. I was about ten feet away from the ground. "Watch." I jumped. It was a split second sensation: something like fear knotting in my gut then unleashing what seemed to be an airbag and my descent to the ground slowed.

I landed much later and safer than I would've done otherwise. "See?"

Hermione was watching me, open-mouthed. "You've got to be kidding me."

And though she never admitted it, she believed me wholeheartedly. That was how we spent our evenings: trying to trigger accidental magic.

**xXx**

**Fall, 1988.**

My mother was remarrying. Trust Dad to not tell me anything. I wasn't sure why I was sulking exactly, it wasn't like I was an avid shipper of _H.M.S Destined to Snap_ – or Severus/Melanie. There was no spark or chemistry between Snape or Melanie whatsoever – both of them were probably as drunk as sailors to have gotten into bed to make yours truly.

I watched apprehensively from where I sat in the car, unwilling to budge even as Mom and Mr Griffith moved the boxes. I caught a glimpse of a boy a couple of years older than my current body, scowling suspiciously out from the window. He glared at me, I glared right back.

Our glaring contest was cut short by Mom stepping in front of my vision. She tapped the window, a clear indication for me to roll it down. I did it reluctantly. I leaned forward as she crouched down to eye-level. "Why don't you just leave me in that apartment? I can live alone. Emancipate me." As ridiculous as it sounded, I had to say it.

Mom rolled her eyes. "You liked David. What's the problem now when we're going to be one big family?" David had two sons of his own. I wanted them dead.

"Yeah," I said, glad that she knew I now no longer harbored any good feelings for David Griffith and his entire family. "When I thought he wasn't snogging my mother behind my back."

Mom snorted. "I don't need your permission. Honesty, not even my mother controls me." She straightened, her long red hair falling down her back. "I know this is too abrupt for you to process but we've been going steady for nearly half a year now."

"Some people go out for ten years and _they_ haven't gotten married," I pointed out incredulously. "And that guy's younger than you. This is cradle-robbing."

Before Mom could rebuke or pinch me, I heard Mr Griffith call, "Melanie, is she coming out yet?"

"Nope!" Mom yelled back, sounding hopeless.

I saw Mr Griffith popping out in the doorway, beaming. He didn't seem perturbed by my less-than-warm welcome. "I've decorated your room for you. You'll like it."

I'd hate it. Mr Griffith thought I was an emo-kid with inane love for vampires and dark stuff. He probably had a skeleton-patterned wallpaper for me ready. Reluctantly, I unlatched the seat-belt and unlocked the car door, exiting the car and taking a few apprehensive steps towards my new house.

"It's so bright I want to puke," I mumbled as Mom hauled me in the house.

"I don't think you and the boys are properly acquainted before," said David Griffith, smiling rather benevolently at me as I entered the double-storey house. I saw two kids sitting on the spacious couch. The house theme seemed to be in warm, homey colors of yellow and caramel and white; and the kids blended right in with their vintage clothing.

"This is my eldest," David was pointing at a blonde-haired blue-eyed boy who grinned shyly, "Zack. He's twelve. And the other boy's Cole, who's ten." I instantly recognized Cole to be the brat glaring at me – he was still glaring at me. He had the same blue eyes as his brother but his hair was brown, like David's.

"Say hello, Lilian," Mom hissed.

"Hello, Lilian," I said snidely.

She pinched me but the thickness of my sweater protected me from the attack. "Can I go back to my game now, Dad?" Cole complained.

"Right," said David distractedly, smiling with moony-eyed at my mom. I wanted to run him down with a truck. "Zack, why don't you show your new sister to her room?"

"Sure. This way, um, Lilian?" I nodded and followed him, Cole taking up the rear. I wasn't so sure about letting him walk behind me and sure enough, he kept stepping on my heels. Zack came to a stop before a door before I could retaliate. "Well, here it is."

Suspiciously, I turned the doorknob and peered in as Cole elbowed his way through the narrow hallway to the room at the end. Zack didn't remove, he waited patiently, as if to see whether or not I was pleased with this arrangement. I looked in my room.

True to my prediction, my room had no bright colors. The walls were dark purple, decorated with silver patterns, and the bed was black, illuminated by the sunshine shining in from the window that was directly beside it. My room was not very spacious but large enough for a girl to live in: the bed was fitted into the corner, window and all, and the furniture consisted of mahogany-colored wardrobes, bookshelves and desk.

"Huh. It's pretty good," I commented. I actually liked it. I didn't know Mom knew me so well to suggest this to David or the man managed to glean this much from me in just one glance (he was a psychiatrist).

"Hope you like it here, Lilian," said Zack. I turned to look at the older boy. I didn't know him very well yet but I figured he would be better company than Cole. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to ruffle my hair but he didn't. He shoved both hands into his pockets, smiling more at ease now.

I nodded. "I'll get used to it. I'll try not to bother you two."

"Oh, Cole's always like that," Zack assured me. "He hasn't been the same since... well..." he trailed off.

"Since your mom died?" I asked bluntly.

Zack did not seem offended. He nodded. "Car accident. It's been two years." Though he did not seem put out by my bluntness – like most people were, even my mother – he was very eager to leave. He waved and spun on his heels, walking past me to the first door in this hallway. Great: we were all lumped together. I wondered where my mother would be sleeping.

As far as I was aware, Mom had not married David yet. They were just trying to live together. Or maybe they eloped secretly because Mom knew I would be like this: grumpy, sarcastic and unreasonable.

I closed the door to my new room, taking in the distinctive smell of a newly renovated room. Just for me? I might actually like David as a dad. Not that were was much of a competition in the first place – seriously, give it three months, and I might prefer David to Snape.

I was a sucker like that: do one nice thing and my heart will melt like ice.

Then I thought about Dad – Snape – and imagined what his feeling would be if he knew I had already replaced him. My heart wrenched; I'd never met anyone lonelier than he was and being denounced by his own daughter definitely would not help him.

Argh.

I hate this guilt gnawing away at me.

**xXx**

Dad was not invited to the wedding ceremony; which was fine by me, things were awkward enough as it is. My relationship with Cole was quite strained; we butted heads about everything despite Zack's best to sooth the strains and play mediator.

Fortunately, I was spared from spending another second with Cole by Mom.

The newly wedded couple would be going on a honeymoon trip (to my utter disgust) and Mom had the great idea of leaving me with Dad and Grandma Eileen. As I'd expected, things between me and Dad were awkward after Mom's marriage. His words were now barbed wires coated in sarcasm – as if I'd done some personal slight against him.

I didn't know how to get close to him.

Dad and I were both distant. I did not particularly liked nor disliked him.

My reason for trying to get him to like me was pretty selfish and simple: I wanted some protection against Voldemort and Snape was most suitable to provide it. He'd protected Harry Potter pretty well in the books.

Living in this world, the dangers were twice that of the norm.

And Dad was not helping.

**xXx**

I wasn't a very demanding kid. But that didn't mean Mom can push me around. When she told me I would be transferring to the same school that Cole was currently enrolled in, I threw a hissy fit.

I was not going to give up my friendship with Hermione.

Mom usually had her way but she was about to learn that I was as stubborn as every inch of her.

I hated making a scene and having Zack, Cole and David gaping openly as my Mom and I engaged in hourly screaming matches did not help. I'd retreated to my room for the time being, snarling and cursing. I locked the door and opened the window, letting the October breeze flit in.

Winter was coming – it was my favorite season so I was looking forward to it where I actually had a legitimate excuse to stay at home and be lazy.

The wind tugged at my red hair. I buried my face in my arms, feeling quite upset. I didn't get why I couldn't keep my cool. I was an adult, not as old as Mom, sure and being in this child's body made me feel – feel regressed. I felt that I'd de-aged instead of aging normally.

It was as if my mentality was laying dormant, waiting for my body to catch up first before it continued aging.

I blamed it for my childishness to cling to one friend only.

Here was what I was feeling: I feel trapped. My parents didn't understand me and I was stuck with these step-family I would rather not have. Sure I was happy Mom found happiness with her new husband but to change my whole life because she felt it was more convenient?

I liked the daily routine I'd gotten used to for nearly seven years.

Changing it? Fat chance, Mom.

**xXx**

In the end, Mom gave in. I have to give my thanks to David for this one - he was the one who did most of the convincing. In return, I became much more polite and smiled more (no matter how odd or fake the expression was). Personally, I felt that I didn't have any need to get used to them when I'd be entering the magical community in three years.

Things between me and my mother were stiff for the first couple of weeks.

She eventually broke the ice on my birthday – which fell on the fifth day of the six month – and showered me in gifts as her apology. Cole gave me chocolate wrappers. Zack was more considerate and had gotten me a box of chocolates. David's gift though, proved that he was definitely trying to win me over, which he succeeded.

He gave me a cellphone. A cellphone!

As an ordinary teen in my past life, a cellphone had been a must but I had no friends and Hogwarts just messed up the cellphone.

I accepted it anyway. At least I had the Chase family and my own Mom to call. I'd also added Hermione's house number.

It took a while but I'd eventually stopped calling David a formal and cold "Mr Chase" that always made him wince and opted for David.

Zack was very easygoing, he called my mother "Mom" after getting the go-ahead from me – Cole did it less and only when he was positive I wasn't in hearing-range. Mom told me – she practically crowed actually since she was happy that we were finally becoming a family – that Cole was accepting her as his mother.

I was glad for the boys to accompany Mom. They were normal Muggle kids Mom could understand. Not me. Never me.

I felt that our ability to comprehend one another was stretched even further by the letter that came on the night before I turned eleven: my Hogwarts acceptance letter.

Dad had probably sent it to me at night to ensure Mom didn't know about it. I wasn't sure how he'd contact her but in a different, short and curt letter, he assured me that he would deal with Mom – even though he had to Confund her to get her to agree to send me to Hogwarts instead of the secondary school she wanted to send me to.

It practically confirmed that Mom would be unable to accept all this magic stuff.

That thought made me slightly sad.

**xXx**

* * *

_A look into Lilian's Muggle life... which is quite boring, but I thought I'd flesh it out that she has a pretty ordinary life at home that she would've liked if it wasn't for the magic and all._

_Also, I'm accepting suggestions for some Snape-Lilian bonding._

_Which House do you think she'd be in? Ravenclaw seems to be the most likely to me._

* * *

** review**

**...**


	4. Chapter 4

**ONE MORE DAY**  
by: Riseha

**Chapter 3**

I dallied. On purpose. I should've gone to Diagon Alley to get my school things – and Dad was nagging me about it – but I waited until July 31st to head there. Hermione had consented to wait that long but she was fussed about how the stores might've run out of school supplies already.

I doubted it. Wizards could make duplicates of an item with a wave of their wand. As I assured her, but it hardly did anything to rub the frown on her brows.

Why did I wait for July 31st you ask?

I dimly recalled Harry had went to Diagon Alley on the same day and I intended to meet him. To annoy my father. I was going to _force_ his hand; I was going to make him suffer in reminiscences of his relationship with Lily Evans; I was going to make him pay attention to me, get involved in my life – even if I'd have to put up with his nagging to stop making friends with Potter.

He'd nag if he cared.

"_Please, tell me you do – give me a chance, you don't have to be alone!_" I wanted so badly to tell him this. But my courage would fail me. Expressing affection and love came so terribly tough for me when Mom did it with ease. Aside from her vivacious beauty, her self-confidence was what I wished I'd inherited.

This was assuming I could actually befriend Harry.

Hermione being my only friend was testament to the fact I wasn't terribly friendly.

"Lily!" Ah, Hermione was here. "Your dad's here!"

I got down there so quickly I might as well have Apparated. "Hi, Dad!" I chirped. The smile I'd geared up conked out the moment I walked into the scene waiting for me at the sitting room, which was directly before the foyer.

Cole sat at the bottom of the stairs. The scowl that was his trademark was directed at me. His loathing of my existence – and girls in general – made the tense awkward in the air that much more obvious. David glanced uncertainly between me and my father, offering me a tremulous quirk to his lips.

The stiffness of Mom's shoulder, the displeased purse of Zack's lips, and Dad's angry look at the spectacular paintjob of the house – all of them clued me in on one thing: they didn't get along.

Dad's eyes cut to me. "We best be along. Come, Clarissa."

Mom sniffed angrily. That she didn't speak kicked my mood into the dump. I'd never been happier to leave the driveway of David's house. Hermione spoke once we were out. "I suppose … I shouldn't have let your father enter…?"

"Mr Griffith invited me in," Dad coolly interrupted before I could respond. "Your mother was unhappy about his amicability. Immature as always, Melanie." His sneer sparked a surge of protective fury. I stomped on his robe, nearly tripping him. Dad rounded on me, Hermione shrunk behind me at the might of his glare, and though my jaw trembled, I stood my ground.

"I'm sorry," I lied, mouth curving, "I wasn't looking where I was going."

Dad's lips curled in disdain. Not at me, but at my terrible lie; it was so damned obvious I had done that intentionally. He didn't punish or chide me. He wasn't that sort. He was the type to let me realize I was being punished in a seemingly innocent action.

"We must hasten our trip before the crowd thickens even more," said Dad in clipped tones. He hated crowds and I was no fan of them either. Dad glanced surreptitiously at Hermione, as if gauging the amount of guts she'd have. Then, to the dread curling like a fist in my gut, he almost smiled pleasantly.

Almost.

With no little amount of dread and confusion, Hermione and I stared as Dad raised his wand. "We'll be taking a transport most popular in wizarding Britain – the Knight's Bus."

I, intolerant of any forms of vehicle transport due to motion sickness, blanched.

**xXx**

I puked on a school trip before; a three hour journey on bus.

The Knight's Bus nearly killed me. I mean it. When the surface I was on finally stopped rocking, I found myself draped over my father's lap, drowsy and utterly sick to my stomach.

Hermione was out of the bus, hands clapped over her mouth, before I could gather myself. I glimpsed her telltale bushy brown hair disappearing through the doors. "Dad," I groaned – a mangled sound of the endearment. "Tell … tell Mom I love her … I don't think I can … urk, make it bac—"

Dad rolled his eyes. "Get off me, Clarissa." A more useful incentive was added not a moment later: "Before the bus moves. Unless of course—" He sounded sadistically pleased.

I bolted after Hermione, shoving an aged witch out of my way, ignoring her shout of anger.

"That was …" Hermione's face was still tinged with green. "Let's never ride it ever again." I nodded fervently in agreement. In a lower voice, she whispered in my ear, "And never trip your father's cloak ever again!"

Don't I know that already?

I glanced in the direction of the man who'd contributed to my creation, to my second life. When I thought I was going to die, it had been him and Mom who'd saved me, however much unintentionally. It made me wonder how different this alternate universe was; a universe where Lilian Clarissa Fiennes-Snape existed.

In a way, this universe was for me.

I couldn't stop the pleased smile spreading across the lips – it comforted me to feel special, even for a brief moment.

**xXx**

Dad trailed behind Hermione and I, pointing out the stores we'd need to visit and giving out pointers to what we should buy when we were in the apothecary.

In the aforementioned apothecary, I took a step back and stared as my father instructed Hermione about the uses of bezoar. She, ever curious, had asked and he'd answered without a bite in his tone. It was all so different from their canon relationship.

Had she reminded him of Lily Evans? Even though the color was off, the mind was brilliant all the same.

It was ridiculous to feel jealous of Hermione when I was the one who really didn't have interest in potions. Still, I was unreasonably cheered up once we were back in the open-street, with the sun smoothing its rays down our hairs, and seeing the street jammed with cloaked magical folks.

"Your father's really knowledgeable, Lily!" Hermione was rambling as we shuffled into Madam Malkin's. I noticed my father's shadow wasn't covering mine so I turned to look.

And finally got a glimpse of the timeline.

Draco Malfoy stood between his parents. Lucius Malfoy had clearly stopped for a chat. Frown tugged at my brows. I followed after Hermione and hoped Madam Malkin's would take a very long time so I could avoid the politics of Death Eaters.

Being judged what I was worth by them? No thanks. I'd rather be chewed out in the principal's office than that.

"Is that your father's old friend?" asked Hermione once she was done singing praises for Snape. I nodded absentmindedly, eyes drilling into the back of Lucius' head. "He looks … pristine. Elegant."

"He's one of the pure-bloods I told you about," I said, offering an input besides monosyllabic answers. "It's best to stay away from his son and his gang. Even though we could've kicked his asses in a duel any day, it'd be a waste of time."

"Wouldn't they have an edge in class?" Hermione frowned at the very troubling thought.

"You'd catch up." I shifted my attention to my Muggle-born friend. Saw the witch she'd grow up to become and I smiled. "By the sounds of it, that boy has spent more time on a broom than with a wand. We'll beat him in no time!"

A smile touched upon her lips. Her hair was swept back by Madam Malkin's who threw a robe around her and pinned it in several places at once. "Yeah."

"Muggle-borns?" inquired Madam Malkin curiously, smiling too. She was a kind-faced woman and she seemed genuinely interested, unlike the typical storekeepers in the Muggle world who only spoke to dig up information about your wealth – see if they could con you into paying higher prices.

"I am," said Hermione. "But Lily's a half-blood."

Madam Malkin's mouth morphed into a sad shape. "Lily? I knew a Muggle-born witch named Lily." She eyed my wavy curls. "You look a bit like her; same red hair and complexion. She was a very talented witch." Her eyes turned misty – sadness clouding them.

"I know," I said.

Goosebumps pricked my skin at the mention of Lily Evans. She who still had such a powerful grasp on my father even without trying.

I didn't like that at all.

**xXx**

It seemed to take forever but we were finally at the wand shop.

I was eager enough to break into a run – running was my outlet to excitement, as people around me knew very well by now, so Hermione and Dad didn't give chase, content to walk at a tortoise's pace.

Good thing: I was close to the wand shop.

Bad thing: I bowled Harry Potter over.

I was _sure_ it was him. Shaggy black hair all over the place and bright green eyes that, beneath the veil of sunray, sparkled with sprinkles of golden stardust. His skin was paler than even mine, a shade of healthy peach. In comparison, I looked like I could snap him in half. Because of how much more healthy-looking I was.

And yes, I took this all in as I gaped at his fallen form, without offering a hand to help.

I reached for his wand and replaced it into its box as he'd already stood without my help. "Uh, sorry." I floundered a bit. Even though I wanted to rebel against my father – to gain his attention in a hopefully, not so childish and innocent way – I didn't know what to say or do now.

"It's okay." He was quieter than I'd expected.

I handed him his wand back so he could go on his own merry way. Green eyes blinked at my chest. Which wouldn't have made as much sense if he'd been fifteen or older. Actually, in canon, had Harry even exhibited signs that he was sexual?

I didn't think so. He only had crushes. Which were pretty tame.

"What're you staring at?" I asked, brow quirked, glancing down. I was dressed in Muggle clothing. To spite Cole, I'd snatched his favorite purple shirt – with an accurate tagline of _'I hate maths but I like counting money'_ – and white jeans that wasn't as loose once I'd put on a belt.

(No, we still didn't get along.)

"Your hair…" I blinked. I thought he was going to compliment it but he reached over and plucked something – a red slug I distinctly recalled from a plastic case in the apothecary – off the tangling curls of red. I couldn't stop a yelp of surprise – how had I not noticed something wriggling in it? "Your hair looks better without it," he decided, finishing his previous sentence firmly.

That startled a laugh out of me.

The sharp call of my name, followed by my father's menacing presence, cut the laughter short. Dad's eyes practically glazed over in ice when he saw James Potter's son. "Get a move on," he snapped at the boy.

Harry cast him a slightly startled look, an uncertain glance at me. I gave him a barely perceptible nod. He darted away, disappearing into the crowd swarming us. "Is that Harry Potter?" I asked my father.

Hermione gasped slightly. "I've heard about him in the bookstore and—"

"He is a brat with an inflated ego that swelled his head to the proportion of a Ford Angelina," Dad finished crudely, waspishly, startling Hermione. I made a gesture that meant, "I'll explain later," and she accepted his reasoning without comment. "Don't mix with the likes of that fool." Then he swept into Ollivander's.

I glanced in the direction Harry had disappeared in and only saw the fading outline of Hagrid's half-giant back.

It's starting – the story is beginning!

**xXx**

"Mom, stop fussing already!"

That cry preceded my action: I lunged and tried to drag my trunk from her. Mom let go with a pout. I worried that she'd blemish her lipstick. "I'm _done_ packing," I insisted for the ninth time. my heart was still beating fast: had I interfered a second later, she would've seen stuff she shouldn't have seen.

My wand – an eleven inch of hazel wood beauty enclosed over an exotic phoenix feather tail – my spellbooks, my cauldron and box of potion ingredients – everything. I gulped at the close call.

Mom didn't accept magic the first time Dad showed it to her. He'd wiped her memories and considered the topic closed, never to be reopened again. I think her inability to accept the existence of magic and instead, accused him of being insane, and slowly driving her there too, had largely contributed to the enmity in their relationship.

Had Mom's conduct reminded him of Tobias Snape?

The Muggle who abused Eileen?

Understandable. I'd given up trying to make them get along. Mom had David now. She didn't need Dad. I was a different matter; I needed him. I was scared of Voldemort. What if I was forced into servitude? The thought made me swallow thickly – I even had nightmares about it – since I had a hard time obeying. I despised being ruled over, forced to kneel and kissed the hem of anyone's robes.

It was degrading.

If I was going to die anyway, I'd die straight-backed; proud and unbending.

Of course, that'd be what my father, a Slytherin, calls idiocy. My pride is too large sometimes, I admit. I just hoped my hubris wouldn't get me killed along the way.

And that he'd stop it from happening too.

I was his daughter. To some level, I must've mattered to him … right?

"Lilian!"

I blinked, turning to look at my mother as I retightened the straps of the trunk. "Um, yeah?"

Mom huffed. "I asked if you wanted to watch a movie together. It's your last night here with us." The lines around her eyes sagged in wistfulness – she didn't want me to leave but she didn't want to stop me if it made me happy to be in my father's boarding school either. "We won't be having you for nine months …" Her hand ghosted over her stomach, upset.

Even though I wasn't a fan of horror movies that the whole family was, I agreed pretty quickly.

At least I know Zack won't say anything if I wiggled into his bed and positively cowered at my own imagination.

Fear was a powerful, driving emotion. How dangerous it was depended on which direction fear drove you in. Me, when I was scared shitless by horror movies, I could create 3D effects. A month ago, there was this stupidly horrifying movie and the shitty ghost lunged at the screen.

I shrieked and it actually crawled out. I think I'd blacked out in fright. Because when I came to, it was back in the screen. I would've passed it off as my overactive imagination again, had David not said, "Technology these days are amazing! For a second there, I thought the ghost crawled out of the TV!"

Accidental magic spurned on my horror movies made me more apprehensive of them. The last thing I wanted was to bring the serial killers and zombies into this world.

That night found me curled into Zack's side. He was about four years older than my twelve years, putting him about sixteen. Cole, being the middle sibling, was two years younger than him and two years above me. Trapped in his moody teenage phase, he was the epitome of unbearable.

I think Cole got that attitude from his mother. Zack was like David, pleasant and sweet.

A type of sweet that got sickeningly annoying. As I found out the next morning at King's Cross station. It would be terribly troublesome if any of my family members saw how I'd disappear in between the platform of 9 and 10 but they were unwilling to let me go alone either.

Stuck in a dilemma, I desperately sought for Hermione and her parents. If Mr and Mrs Granger were there, they'd be more at ease to send me away.

Zack found the need to escort me right up the train. "Where's your ticket?" he persisted, head turning in every direction to see a possible candidate. "Do you have it? Which train?"

My mouth dried. I was a terrible liar; what do I say? Why didn't Dad come to my help? "I … actually, Zack, the train is –"

Zack's blue eyes widened in surprise – a precedent to a tug on my long hair – before they narrowed rather coldly, surprising me with the change of his normally kind eyes. I turned to see a nervous grin pasted on a green-eyed boy's face.

I nearly said his name. "Who're you?" demanded Zack angrily.

"The Boy! I mean, he's a schoolmate," I hastily amended.

"From your public school?" Zack and I didn't go to the same school so he couldn't find the lie in my nod. "And you're going to the same boarding school."

"Yeah." _Harry, you're such a lifesaver!_ "So we'll be boarding the train together, no need to worry!" I insisted, detaching my trunk from Zack's hands.

My stepbrother looked slightly hurt I wanted to ditch him so quickly. We couldn't stay for long though. My train would leave and Mom had an appointment with the doc in London. "Take care," he made me promise and I did. Never shy in expressing affection, he brushed his lips across my forehead, smiled and left. I was ninety-nine percent sure he'd lurk in where he thought I wouldn't be able to see and wait. Or trail after me.

"Three more minutes to eleven," The Boy said, looking uncomfortably and sorry. Must be the overlarge clothes. Or he was sorry he'd intruded on a private family moment. The skin stretching my forehead was still tingling. "Sorry to bother you but do you know—"

"This way!" I took his hand, tightening my grip on my trunk and ran, pulling him behind me like a flag in the wind.

Two minutes…

I accidentally shoved some poor Muggle and we darted around a huge compilation of luggage and family. I took zigzagging routes, in case Zack was following.

One minute –

Giving up the charade, I pulled The Boy harder and we plunged across the barrier separating the Muggle and the Wizarding world.

**xXx**

* * *

_[AN]: Late. Beyond late. Sorry about that lol I just recently got into a Harry Potter funk again. My other SI, Closer, is also halfway done with the next chapter. It might be up soon._

_I've been so out of touch with this story that I forgot my OC's name and the timeline. Just to be sure: David's last name is Griffith, not Chase. As for the crossovers theories, no, it's not a crossover unless it's an Omake. Would you like to see it or something?_

_As I'm running low on inspirations right now, I'd like it if you guys can contribute ideas. Pairings, etc? Do you guys even like Harry/Ginny?_

**Read and Review!**


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